


Crazy Train

by Syls Darkplace (sylsdarkplace)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Hunters, Explicit Sexual Content, First Time, John Finds Out, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-20
Updated: 2013-12-26
Packaged: 2018-01-06 06:34:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1103597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sylsdarkplace/pseuds/Syls%20Darkplace





	1. Chapter 1

**_One_ **

Dean had been hunting with his dad for almost a year, but this was the first really big job that they’d taken on. Up until now it had been single monsters – a werewolf, a wendigo, an angry spirit – but this was a whole nest of vampires. As it turned out, however, they hadn’t been alone on the job. Once inside the abandoned textile mill, they’d run into another group of hunters. Dean had assumed they were vampires, but John had thrown an arm across his son’s chest holding him back, and Dean had stopped, machete raised.

“I know them,” John said.

“John,” the tall man in the cap had said.

“Mark, what are you doing here?”

“Same as you,” he replied. Along with the man in the cap, Mark, there were two other men and a woman.

John looked like he wanted to say more, but he stopped himself.

“Dean,” John said. “These are the Campbells. They’re old … friends.”

Dean just nodded, feeling a little confused. His dad had never mentioned any Campbells before, and he knew or had at least heard of most the other hunters his dad knew. The Campbells seemed to really be looking him over too, which gave Dean an itchy feeling.

“There are stairs at each end of this walkway leading into the sub-basements,” John said. “Why don’t you all take the east stairs; we’ll take the west. We’ll catch the bastards in the middle.”

“Sounds good,” said Mark. He glanced over at Dean. “Just as long as your boy doesn’t mistake us for vamps.”

“He won’t,” John said bristling.

The job wasn’t what Dean expected. Monsters usually looked more like monsters, but these sleeping vampires seemed so human – especially the teenage girl in the hammock. She was so pretty and warm. The feel of her hair was so silky in his hand when he grabbed her. At 16, Dean had killed himself a few monsters, but killing something so human made him feel a little queasy. He was unsure until she growled and bared her teeth at him, and then the machete in his hand separated her head from her body. A movement behind him had him swinging around and decapitating a blond boy who couldn’t have been any older than Dean himself.

And it was over just like that. The six hunters stood surrounded by bodies in the darkness of the mill’s basement.

“Go on out, Dean,” John said. “We’ll clean this up.”

Dean started to protest, but he knew that arguing with his father, especially in front of other people, would just piss him off. Instead, he nodded and backtracked through the mill.

Outside the Impala shone in the glare of a security light on the building. A white van that hadn’t been there when they arrived was parked nearby. A movement caught his eye and Dean walked to the van. The light shined directly in the van’s windshield, and Dean saw a young kid briefly before he ducked out of view. He’d seen him long enough to have a clear picture of a mop of brown, shaggy hair, bow of pink mouth, and big eyes.

Dean put his hands up on either side of his face and peered into the van. The kid must have ducked into the back.

“Hey,” he called. “Hey kid, it’s okay. I know your folks. The Campbells, right?”

There was no movement or sound from inside the van. Okay, so the kid was scared of him or maybe of getting in trouble for being seen. Dean sighed “Your folks are okay. They’ll be out soon … So, okay, well, I’m … I’ll be out here until they get back … so you don’t have to worry.”

Dean wasn’t sure why he’d said that, why he felt the need to reassure the kid. There was something about younger kids, boys. All the long hours riding in the Impala, Dean sometimes imagined … thought about someone else … of what it would have been like …

Dean went and leaned on the Impala until John came out. His dad didn’t say a word to him. He just motioned him to get in the car and they left.

Dean didn’t mention the kid in the van to his dad. He wasn’t sure why. John seemed kind of angry or sad or … Dean wasn’t sure. It was that mood John got in when he thought of his mom and baby brother who’d died in a fire when Dean was four years old. When John would think of Mary and little Sammy, he’d get really quiet like this, bite Dean’s head off for no reason, and then drink himself into oblivion. Eventually, he would apologize incoherently to Dean and pass out. Dean never felt so alone, and he felt alone a lot.

***

Five years later, Dean was hunting on his own in some hot, southern state. He’d finished off a ghoul one state back, and headed to the pool hall in this godforsaken, one-horse town.

It was darker inside, but not much cooler. He ordered a Coke at the counter – no beer. He had some back at the motel. He’d seen the sign outside a little shack two counties over “Last Chance for BEER,” and he’d locked up the brakes on the Impala as he swerved into the dirt lot. And that’s another thing, his baby was covered in red dust. He needed to head back north, he figured. But he really needed some cash first.

He paid for the Coke. And took a long drink of the soda with crushed ice – admitted he liked that about the South – and looked around. Not many people in the pool hall. There were a couple of old men playing checkers, a group of high school boys that might be a possibility at one table, and a single guy at another. The guy playing solo was tall, lanky and somehow familiar. He bent, took a lazy shot, and looked right up at Dean through shaggy bangs.

Dean strolled over. “Care to play?”  


“Sure.” The kid shrugged.

“Wager?” Dean asked. The kid was 18 maybe 20 years old. Old enough to look out for himself, and Dean needed the cash.

“Okay. Twenty?” the kid said.

Dean was a little surprised by the amount. He was going to start at $10. “Twenty, it is.”

Dean set the Coke aside and picked up a cue. “I’m Dean, by the way.”

“Oz,” the kid said.

“Oz?”

The kid just shrugged, racked up the balls, and broke. Nice, Dean thought. Must play pretty often. He got two more shots, and Dean was having trouble concentrating. Instead, he found himself looking at the kid’s ass when he bent over the table or just at his hands on the cue as he lined up a shot. He even noticed one of the old men watching and frowning at him. He rubbed his hand across his face and told himself to get it together. He came here to make money, not to get laid. And what the fuck? He’d never picked up a guy before. What was he thinking?

The eight ball dropped in the corner pocket. Shit.

“Want to try to win your money back?” The kid grinned.

Normally, Dean would feel the urge to punch someone in this situation, but he wanted to grab the kid and kiss the grin off his face. He swallowed hard.

“Yeah, sure.”

This time Dean really forced himself to concentrate. He used his hunting skills – pretending the kid was some monster he had to resist and vanquish. And he won his $20 back. Square one.

“Listen,” Dean said. “It’s awful hot in here, and I don’t know about you, but I could use a beer.”

“Yeah, dry county,” the kid said.

“I have beer back in my room,” Dean said quietly. They were only a few inches apart and Dean could smell the kid’s shampoo and clean sweat, and it was doing something really not normal to him. Why they hell am I asking him back to my room? What the fuck?

And, holy fuck, the kid grinned, eyes lighting up. And dimples – the kid had dimples, and why the fuck is that so appealing?

“A beer would be great,” he said quietly.

The motel was only about a block away, but Dean thought he was going to melt like a fucking Popsicle on the sidewalk before he got there. The motel was old, decrepit and faded in the southern sun. Dean let them into his room with and old-fashioned brass key. The room felt chilly for only a moment before the temperature became only mildly comfortable. The air-conditioning unit under the window roared with effort that was not reflected in the temperature.

Dean opened a cooler on the floor and pulled out two beers. Canned.

“Sorry, I’m a little low on funds,” he said. “Cans are cheaper.”

“Beggers can’t be choosers, right?” the kid said. “I guess, it’s good that I let you win your money back.”

“Let me?” Dean said.

The kid just smiled. Dean sat down on the end of one of the beds.

“So tell me about the nickname,” he said.

The kid chuckled. “It’s stupid. Apparently, when I was just little kid, I really liked that song Crazy Train.”

“Ozzy.”

“Yeah.”

“It’s a classic. You still have good taste in music?”

“I don’t know. I guess.” The kid was leaning back against the dresser.

“So, Oz, you lived here all your life?” Dean knew better. The kid didn’t have a Southern accent, but it was an indirect way to get him to talk about himself.

“What? Oh no, I don’t live here. I mean, not for long,” the kid was studying the toes of his sneakers. Old Converse All Stars. They had holes in them. And there were holes in the knees of his jeans and a hole in his t-shirt, Dean noted. He wanted to put his fingers through there and feel the warm skin of his belly. The kid was saying something about his dad being a contractor. That they moved around a lot. Dean almost had to shake himself to pull his eyes away. And as long as the kid was looking down, Dean had an opportunity to study his face. Well, what he could see of it. He was so familiar somehow, but his hair was hanging down over his eyes again. Dean had the urge to push it out of the way, to … Oz was suddenly looking at him too. Studying him.

“Dean.”

“Yeah.” He put the can to his lips and realized it was empty. “Yeah?”

“Did you ask me here just to have a beer?”

Dean’s eyes went wide. “Umm…”

Oz crossed the few feet to the bed before Dean had time to react. He slid onto the bed, straddling Dean’s legs. He took Dean’s face in his hands and pressed his mouth to Dean’s, and Dean’s dick was twitching mercilessly. Dean pulled back, but he couldn’t get away with Oz sitting on his lap.

“Dude, I …”

“Isn’t this what you wanted?” Oz asked.

Dean felt like an electric current was running over his skin, and his cock was now straining against his jeans.

“Yeah, yeah,” he said and crushed his mouth into the kid’s. A moment later he was scrambling up the bed with Oz following him – all long limbs and hungry mouth. He felt like the kid was trying to devour him. He was licking into Dean’s mouth, sucking at his lips, his neck, his nipples. He had Dean’s shirt off and was working at his jeans. This was a whole new experience. The girls Dean had been with had run the gamut from convincible to eager, but no one had ever been so aggressive. Although, a little taken aback, Dean was turned on by the enthusiasm.

“Hey, hold on,” he said gruffly. He grabbed the kid’s upper arms. “Come here.” He sat up, grabbed Oz’s t-shirt and pulled it off. He was all bones and long muscles. His ribs still showed under the skin. Dean glanced into his face. Maybe this kid wasn’t as old as he thought.

“How old are you?”

“Old enough,” Oz said and pressed his lips to Dean’s. His weight bore Dean back onto the bed, and within moments Oz had Dean’s jeans and boxers off. His hand was wrapped around Dean’s cock, and his hand was big and warm. And his mouth was sucking at the skin on Dean’s neck and nipping at the skin on his chest, his nipples, his belly. And oh holy fuck, his mouth was on Dean’s cock. He was licking up the underside of it. The tip of his tongue was dipping into the slit. Dean glanced down, and Oz was looking up through his bangs. Dean reached down, pushed the hair from Oz’s forehead, tangled his fingers in soft locks. And Oz opened his mouth and sank down on Dean’s cock.

Dean moaned, long and loud. His head fell back against the bed. And Oz set up a torturous rhythm. From the crown, swirling tongue, to the base, his nose pressed into the course hair. Dean’s dug his heels into the mattress.

Dean swore and groaned, and every time the tip of his dick hit the back of the kid’s throat, he thought he’d die. And the fucker would not let up, would give him no quarter, and he felt his balls tighten.

“Agh, gonna … oh fuck fuck,” Dean shouted. His body jerked up off the bed and his spine was shooting out his dick. It hurt so good. Oz quit moving, but continued to lick at the head of Dean’s dick which was still in his mouth. “No, stop stop, please.”

Oz let go of Dean’s dick. “Dean, can you stop pulling my hair?”

“Sorry,” Dean said. But he didn’t let go. He pulled Oz up to him and rolled them over so he was on top. He crushed his mouth onto Oz’s and licked his come from his mouth. “That is one talented mouth.”

“You liked that?”

“That was incredible. I’d like to return the favor, but I don’t know that I have your talent.”

“You know what they say about bad sex …” Oz said. His comment was cut off by Dean’s tongue plunging back into his mouth. Their lips crushed against their teeth, and Dean bit at Oz’s bottom lip as he pulled away.

Dean got Oz’s jeans undone and started to pull them down.

Oz gasped. “Jesus … it won’t take much, Dean.”

And he was right. Dean barely got his mouth around Oz’s dick, tasting precome, feeling the weight of Oz’s rather impressive cock, when he felt the kid’s muscles tense and his mouth and throat were filled with come – hot, salty, and not so bitter as his own. Oz’s fingers were gripping Dean’s shoulders and his heels were digging into Dean’s ribs.

“Wow … that was not bad.”

Dean chuckled. “Well, like you said, even bad sex is good.”

“That was better than good, dude.”

Dean flopped down on his back next to Oz.

“Yeah. Yeah, it was,” Dean said.

“You know what? I’m hungry.”

“Me too. We could order pizza,” Dean said. “Couldn’t we? I mean surely even this Podunk town has a pizza place.”

“Yeah, there is. That would be awesome,” Oz said. “You know with our collective $40, we could get two.”

“You want a whole a pizza?” Dean asked. He looked over and Oz had his lip stuck out. He laughed. “Okay, you can have your own pizza.”

“Cool. I’ll order. I know the number,” he sat up and picked up the receiver on the night stand. “What do you want on yours?”

Dean shrugged. “Meat.”

Oz grinned. “Okay, one meat and one everything.”

“Should have known,” Dean said.

Dean and Oz put their jeans back on long enough to wait on the pizza and devour it. They each killed a couple more beers in the process. And the next thing Dean knew, he was on his back with Oz all over him again. And he was beginning to like this. It was a little slower this time. Oz liked kissing a lot. Not just Dean’s lips, although he spent a lot of time sucking and biting Dean’s lips and tongue fucking his mouth and sucking his tongue, he kissed, licked, nipped and sucked everywhere – Dean’s chin and jaw, the freckles on his cheeks, his eyelids, temple, the shell of his ear, behind his ear, his neck, his collar bone, chest, belly … and he was back at Dean’s mouth.

“Dean, Dean, I want … “ His tongue plunged into Dean’s mouth.

“What? What?”

Oz kissed across Dean’s jaw to his ear. “I want you to fuck me,” he whispered into Dean’s ear. He sucked at the skin under Dean’s ear.

Dean rolled Oz off him and was off the bed.

“Hey!” Oz protested.

“Stay right there,” Dean said gruffly. He found a condom and lube in his duffel bag, shucked his jeans off, and was back on the bed. Oz squirmed out of his jeans and lifted his legs. Dean’s heart was pounding and blood was rushing in his ears. Dean squirted lube onto his fingers and pressed one to Oz’s ass. Oz gasped and lifted his hips higher.

“Yeah,” he sighed.

Dean pushed in to the second knuckle, and it was so hot and tight. He didn’t think it was possible to get a dick in there. But when Oz said, ‘more,’ Dean slid a second finger in. He couldn’t help but watch the kid’s face – eyes closed, mouth open, gasping. His hands clutched at the sheets.

“So good,” Oz said. “More, more.”

Dean slid a third finger in, twisting, spreading, stroking over the prostate, and that raised Oz up off the bed with a moan.

“Oh God, fuck me, Dean.”

Dean hesitated only a moment before pulling his fingers out, rolling the condom on, and slicking his cock. He pressed the head of his dick to Oz’s hole and pushed. He saw a grimace of pain cross the kid’s face, and he stopped. But Oz reached up and grabbed Dean’s arms.

“Don’t stop. More,” he gasped.

Dean continued to push in lifting Oz’s hips and not stopping until his balls were pressed against Oz’s body. Then, Dean started to move in slow, long strokes. Dean was concentrating so hard on not hurting the kid, he wasn’t even getting close, but holy fuck, it felt good. So fucking good; like he could stay here all night.

“Faster,” Oz urged, and Dean picked up the pace, plunging faster and harder into tight heat. And ohgodohgod, Oz was making the hottest noises … groaning and cursing and begging. The tip of Dean’s cock was rubbing over the kid’s prostate again and again, and his fingers were digging into Dean’s arms hard enough to bruise, but Dean didn’t care. He was shaking and sweating. And the kid’s ass was suddenly like a vise around his cock, and Oz was shooting come all over his belly and chest, even his own chin. And he let out a strangled scream that in a respectable motel would have prompted a police call.

And Dean lost it. He came so hard he collapsed on top of Oz, his body arching like an over-strung bow. His dick was buried as far in Oz as it would go. He whimpered and went limp on the kid’s chest. His bones had turned to jelly.

They lay there panting, smeared in the kid’s come.

“That …” Dean said.

“Yeah,” Oz agreed.

Dean rolled off Oz and tossed the condom in the trash. He got up and went into the bathroom on shaky legs. He washed the come off his chest and belly, rinsed out the washcloth and took it out to Oz who did the same.

“You want another beer?” Dean asked.

“Nah,” Oz said.

Dean lay down. Oz rolled against him and threw an arm and a leg over Dean.

“I want to sleep.”

“Okay.” Dean turned off the bedside lamp and lay in the dark listening to cars go by on the highway and the kid’s breathing. He didn’t do this. He had sex with people. He didn’t sleep with them.

When Dean awoke in the morning, he was alone again.

 

 

**  
**


	2. Chapter 2

**_Two_ **

Dean pulled the Impala off the black top onto the dirt driveway and stopped between the concrete gate posts. The post on the right tilted at a drunken angle and strands of barbed wire stretched into the distance.

He was in Illinois corn country in November. The weather was gray, chilled, not winter, but definitely not autumn. The sky was low and leaden. Stubbled fields stretched around the farm for miles.

He slowly rolled the Impala forward. To the left, an old farmhouse, grayed with age, was just visible through an overgrown hedge, leafless, lifeless. On the right was a barn and block silo with a crenellated top. A door to the hayloft swung in the breeze.

A child had disappeared from this farm. Another child. Children had been disappearing from the farm with sickening regularity for nearly a century, but there was never a good suspect, never a connection, never a body.

He followed the driveway around behind the house. He was surprised and annoyed to find a car sitting along the back porch. A 1965 Chevy step-side pick up. What the hell?

He got out of the car, went to the trunk, and got the sawed off and extra salt rounds. He slipped the Glock into the waistband of his jeans. Human or spirit, he wanted to be prepared. He crept up the steps of the porch and eased the old screen door open. The door into the kitchen was standing open already.

There were dishes in the sink and a pair of shoes by the door as though the occupants had simply walked out or run out. Dean eased into the hallway with the shotgun raised. He thought he heard a shuffle around the corner. He crept forward, turned through the doorway, and came face to face with a raised shotgun.

“Shit.”

“Fuck.”

“Dean?”

The light was dim, and Dean couldn’t really make out features, but the figure was tall with shaggy hair.

“It is Dean, right?”

“Who?”

“Oz.”

Dean felt a weird twist in his gut. He realized the other shotgun had already been lowered, and he lowered his.

“Oz, right. Sorry, I can’t really see …”

“Yeah, I guess you’re here about the kids too, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“Check this out.” The tall figure moved away from him into the room, and there was more light here. Dean could see that the kid hadn’t changed so much, and yet he had. His hair still fell in his face and his eyes were both shy and inquisitive. He was filling out, more muscular, but still lanky. He might even be a little taller – a lot taller than Dean.

The kid gestured to a door behind the couch, which stood ajar.

“The front of the house is like a museum,” Oz said. “Like someone died, and it was shut up and never touched.”

“Huh.”

“Yeah, apparently the heirs have been renting out the back portion of the house for decades.”

“So the front is full of stuff that a spirit might glom onto,” Dean said.

“Exactly,” Oz said.

“Have you looked around much in there?”

“Just started to when I heard you get here.”

“Well, we might as well look around,” Dean said.

Sure enough there were books in the bookcase in the hall, china and crystal in dining room cabinets.

Oz picked a book up off a side table and opened to the flyleaf. “James Greene,” he said.

“Yeah, the Greene farm,” Dean said.

Pillows still lay on settees and a humidor still held tobacco. Everything from the rugs to the chandeliers was covered in a thick layer of dust. Despite all the monsters Dean had encountered in his 24 years, there was something about this place that brought the hair on the back of his neck up.

“This place is creeping me out,” Oz whispered.

There was no need to whisper really, but Dean didn’t blame him. Dean started up the stairs and Oz followed. Dean realized looking down that the stair treads weren’t worn, and that was one of the weird things about the place. Everything was like new but dusty. It was as though it had been shut up not long after being built.

Dean eased a door open when he got to the landing. Inside was a brass bed and a couple of dressers. He moved on to the next door, and again, there was a brass bed, but lying on this one was a body.

“Holy shit,” Oz said.

“Yeah, Mr. Greene, I presume.”

The body was like a corn husk inside the dark suit. Dean leaned forward slightly – Victorian cutaway, watch fob, silk tie.

“Jesus Christ.”

“We need to burn it,” Oz said.

“Yeah, but …”

“What?”

“This doesn’t tell us what happened to the kids,” Dean said.

“Maybe we don’t want to know.”

Dean shot Oz a look.

“I mean, we can’t bring them back, Dean.”

“Yeah, yeah, but still …” Dean rubbed his hand across his jaw. “We need to know what happened to them. They may not be at rest. And the last one that disappeared … could be alive.”

“Dean.”

“Yeah, I know.” He shook his head. Kids … “All right, well we can’t burn him here. The whole house will go up.”

“That might not be such a bad thing,” Oz said.

“What? You want to burn the house down.”

“There’s something about this place, Dean. Can’t you feel it?”

“It’s creepy.” Dean shrugged. “But that’s all, and I’m not an arsonist.” Dean moved to the foot of the bed. “We’ll wrap him in the bedspread and carry him outside. We can torch him there.”

It was Oz’s turn to shrug. “We’re going to regret this.”

Dean grabbed the edge of the spread with his left hand and threw it over the body at the same time Oz flipped the cover over with his right. They looked up at each other in frustration. They pulled the cover back off.

“Other way,” Dean said.

This time he used his right and Oz used his left with the same criss-crossed result. They pulled the cover off again.

“Okay,” Dean said. “On _his_ right – like a burrito.”

Oz  threw back his head and laughed and the sound hit Dean in the chest and went right to his toes. He smirked and then began to laugh bent over the corpse’s shiny black shoes.

“I may never eat Mexican food again,” Oz finally said.

“Dude, shut up,” Dean said. “Let’s salt and burn this sucker.”

They successfully wrapped the body and started lugging it down the stairs. It was just bones really, but it was surprisingly heavy, as thought it still contained some essential substance of the inhabitant. As they moved from the front to the back of the house, the structure began to shake. Plaster was falling from the walls and ceiling, and glass was shattering in the windows. The floor was bucking so hard they were having trouble staying on their feet. They half carried, half dragged the body into the kitchen when Dean heard a hissing between crashes.

“Gas! Run!” Dean dropped his end of the body and pushed Oz ahead of him through the door. They made it down the steps and out into the driveway before the house exploded behind them. Dean ducked at the sound, and a wave of heat took him to his knees. He ran a hand down the back of his head to make sure his hair wasn’t on fire.

Just ahead of him, Oz was sitting on his ass looking back at the blaze. His mouth was hanging open, and Dean almost laughed. “Fuck,” Oz said as he pushed himself to his feet. “I hope you can give me a ride back to town.”

Dean stood and turned. The stove had been launched out the kitchen door and landed on the hood of Oz’s truck

“Oh dude, your truck …” Dean said.

“S’okay, not really mine.” He shrugged. “I stole it back in Omaha.”

Dean just looked at Oz, and now he was the one with his mouth hanging open.

“Still,” Oz looked back at the crushed truck. “I really liked it.”

Dean busted out laughing and clapped Oz on the back.

“Come on. Let’s head back to town.”

After learning they were staying at the same motel, there was only quiet in the car for some time.

“Dean, do you think it’s over … back there?”

“God, I hope so.”

He pulled the Impala into the motel lot and headed to his room followed closely by Oz. Dean glanced back.

“217,” Oz said.

“Yeah, I’m in 218.”

Dean slipped into his room and pulled the door closed. He shrugged out of his jacket and grabbed a beer from the cooler. He held it to his forehead for a moment before twisting the cap off and taking a long drink.

There was a knock at the door, but not the hall door. There was a door adjoining his to the next room. Oz’s room. He opened the door.

“No,” he said.

“What?” Oz said with a puzzled expression.

“What?” Dean asked.

“Got a beer?”

“No,” Dean said. Oz looked down at the beer in Dean’s hand. “Oh, yeah, sure. Stay there.” He got another beer from the cooler and handed it to Oz.

“Thanks.”  Oz smiled, dimples deepening.

“Sure.” Dean started to push the door closed.

“Dean.” Oz put his hand against the door.

“I’m tired.” He sighed.

“I’m hungry.” Oz grinned, and Dean laughed quietly.

“Why am I not surprised?” He opened the door and stepped back. “Pizza with everything, right?”

“Yeah.” Oz followed him into the room and flopped down on one of the beds.

Dean picked up the food guide next to the phone and found the number for Domino’s. “Food, and then you go back to your own room.” Dean sat on the other bed and ordered the pizza.

“Dean, about before,” Oz said when Dean hung up the phone.

“Don’t,” Dean said without looking up. He waved his hand. “That was three years ago, and it’s no big deal.”

“My family left town that day,” he said. “I had to go, and I …”

“How old are you?”

“Me? 20.”

Dean’s mouth dropped open. “You … you were jailbait. Jesus.”

Oz grinned. “No harm, no foul.”

“Are you kidding?” Dan growled.

“Dude, I don’t have the kind of family that would come after you. Seriously, my dad might have knocked me around, but …”

“Your family …” Dean’s head snapped up. “Your family hunts.”

“Yeah.”

“You’re that kid … in the van,” Dean said.

“You didn’t know that?”

“Well, you changed … a lot, you know.” Dean emptied the beer and got another.

“Yeah, well …”

There was a knock on the door.

“Pizza.”

Oz could still pack it away. Dean was in awe, even in his growing teenage years he couldn’t eat like that, and Dean liked food … a lot. Oz could drink beer too. He was keeping up with Dean, and Dean had to admire that.

“Wow, that was so good.” Oz leaned back on the bed looking satisfied, buzzed and, fuck, Oz’s shirt had pulled up showing a line of golden skin. Dean dragged his eyes away. When he looked back at Oz, the kid was grinning at him. Waiting …

Dean cleared his throat. “Well …” He stood, but Oz continued lying on the bed, grinning. Dean didn’t say a word.

Oz’s face fell. “Yeah, I should get some sleep.” He rolled off the bed and headed for the door. “Listen,” he said, turning back. “If you can’t sleep, we could play some poker or something. I could really use the cash.” He grinned, and there were those dimples again. Oz was leaning in the doorway all loose limbs and shaggy hair.

Dean definitely didn’t want to play poker with the kid. He raised an eyebrow. “Out.”

Oz huffed out a breath. “Fine, see you in the morning.”

“Yeah.”

Dean spent the next hour drinking and watching car lights trace across the walls. He worked at not thinking about the last time – those long limbs and that hungry mouth.

***

… and Dean jerked up out of sleep. Thin morning light filtered between the curtains.

“Fuck.” He drug himself from the bed and into the shower.

Twenty minutes later Dean was opening the door to the adjoining room only to find Oz standing in the doorway holding the opposing door open. Dean started to laugh at the synchronicity until he saw that Oz was wearing nothing but a beat up pair of jeans and acres of skin. His eyes swept across the jut of hipbone and flat belly, ripples of muscle, and … Oz’s eyes sparkled and a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

And Dean moved into the room, pushing him back toward the bed and his teeth caught Oz’s bottom lip and he sucked on it. Oz’s hands were pulling at Dean’s t-shirt as he pulled Dean on top of him onto the bed. Dean was straddling him on all fours.

“You,” Dean said. “If we do this, I won’t let you go.”

Oz just nodded and pulled Dean’s mouth back to his. And Dean couldn’t get enough of him. He’d been wanting him for three years. Wanting this. He’d tried picking up other guys. There had been a couple. One was laughable and the other had just left Dean angry and humiliated. No, he didn’t want guys; he wanted this guy. And if Oz’s behavior was any indication, he wanted Dean. His hands slid over Dean’s ribs, across his back, down to his hips, and he pulled at them trying to get more contact. Dean obliged, but the two layers of denim between them was frustrating. The pressure was good though, and Oz rubbed his pelvis up against Dean who lay between the kids long legs. Dean was sucking at the skin over Oz’s pulse.

“Dean, Dean, take your fucking clothes off, man, please, can we?”

Dean disentangled himself and stood. He began pulling his clothes off, and Oz on the bed did the same without taking his eyes off Dean.

“You got a condom?” Oz asked.

Dean grabbed one and the lube from his duffle and crawled back onto the bed. Before he knew what was happening, Oz grabbed them from his hand and rolled Dean onto his back. Dean’s eyes went wide, but Oz straddled Dean’s hips and Dean was totally on board. Oz slicked his fingers with lube and reached behind himself. His head dropped back and he sighed. Holy fuck, Dean wished he could see that. He reached up and ran his thumbs over Oz’s nipples. Oz shivered.

“Dean, Jesus, Dean, I can’t wait.” He half turned and rolled the condom onto Dean’s dick and poured more lube in his hand and slicked the latex covered cock. Dean’s hips bucked. And then his cock was pushing into the crushing, grasping heat of Oz’s body. And Oz was in pain. Dean could see it on his face, but he didn’t stop. He just kept lowering himself onto Dean’s cock until Dean was balls deep in him. Oz was leaning forward, eyes closed, breathing through his mouth.

“Oz.”

He looked up at Dean, eyes glassy. His cock dripped precome onto Dean’s belly. A strange sound came from his somewhere in his chest. A moan or whimper. “Dean.” He pulled Dean’s mouth to his and started to move. Long, slow strokes almost to the tip and back. Again and again. His nails bit into Dean’s shoulders, and Dean wanted it. The pain and the pleasure. Whatever Oz gave him.

Oz pulled off of him. “Fuck me, Dean.” He moved onto all fours and Dean moved behind him. He ran his hands over Oz’s back and ass.

“Come on, Dean,” Oz whined.

And Dean plunged in. No finesse, no tenderness. Just lust and need. Here, right here. Dean couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so aroused, and fuck, Oz was slamming back into him on every stroke, moaning and cussing. God, the kid had a filthy mouth. A filthy, beautiful mouth. Dean’s fingers were digging into his hips, bruising, marking. He leaned over and bit the skin over Oz’s shoulder blade.

“Dean, ugh, please,” Oz begged and Dean reached around and grabbed the kid’s cock, started jerking it. Oz’s hole clamped down on Dean and his cock twitched in Dean’s hand. Oz cried out, yelled Dean’s name. He shot onto the comforter. Dean pulled his hand away and licked the taste of Oz from his hand. And he was shooting into the condom. Wishing he was shooting deep into Oz. His hand was pressed hard into Oz’s back to keep from falling over.

“Fuck,” Dean hissed. He pulled out and tossed the condom into the trash.

Oz chuckled. “Housekeeping is going to hate me.”

Dean pulled him down onto the other bed. “I’m sure they’re used to it.”

Oz wrapped his arms and legs around Dean.

“Dude, you are a fucking octopus,” Dean said.

“Hmm,” Oz kissed Dean’s temple. “You know, you were the first.”

Dean pulled back, eyes searching Oz’s face. “Bullshit.”

Oz looked hurt. “No bullshit. I mean I had a high school boyfriend, but it was just hand jobs and blow jobs. You were the first.

“Jesus, jailbait and a virgin.” Dean was quiet for a minute. “But, yeah, you too.”

 

***

“Just get a credit card from my wallet,” Oz yelled from the bathroom.

It had been six months since Dean had run into Oz in Illinois. The first six months of his life that Dean hadn’t felt a hole in his gut. Six months of almost perfect. He loved the way the kid’s knees pressed against the dash of the Impala, the way he laughed, the way his long fingers stroked the back of Dean’s neck while he drove. He loved that Oz had his back on hunts even if his stomach was in knots worrying about the kid at the same time. And the nights … Dean’s nights had always been so long, but now with those long limbs wrapped around him, Oz’s heat pressed against him, whether they were fucking or just sleeping, the nights were never too long.

Dean picked up Oz’s wallet from the dresser and started thumbing through the stack of cards. Michael Cole. Kenneth Johnson. Alex Smith. Visas. Master Cards. Amex. And an Illinois driver’s license. Samuel Campbell. Birth date: 5/1/1983. Dean froze. May 1, 1983. Was this real? His throat went dry. He grabbed his dad’s journal and turned to the back, to the old snapshots. He shuffled through them until he found a high school photo of his mom. He turned it over. Mary Campbell was written on the back in a loopy script.

“No.No, no, no, no, no,” he snapped the journal shut.

“Dean?” Oz came up behind him.

Dean turned, brow furrowed. “Do you know a John Winchester?”

“No,” Oz said. His eyebrows pulled down. “I don’t think so.”

“No or don’t think so?” Dean asked. He opened the journal again and pulled out a photo. In it, his dad was holding him and his mom was holding baby Sammy. He handed it to Oz who immediately had a look of recognition on his face.

“Yeah,” he said glancing up at Dean. “I do know him. That’s my Uncle John. God, I haven’t seen him since I was a little kid.”

Dean couldn’t breathe. This didn’t make sense. He took the photo and pointed to it. “That’s me and that’s my dad.”

Oz looked confused. “We’re …” Dean cut him off before he could say ‘cousins.’

“And that,” Dean said pointing again. “That’s my mom, Mary. Her maiden name was Campbell. And that …” Dean choked. “That’s my baby brother Sam. His birth date was May 1, 1983. They died in a fire … my dad said, they died in a fire when I was four.”

Dean looked at Oz and waited for a reaction. Oz just stared at the photo. Finally, his eyes met Dean’s.

“Dean.” Oz slipped his hand across Dean’s cheek and it came to rest on his neck. “You think … you think, I’m your brother? You think your dad lied to you about your brother’s death?”

“My dad’s a hunter. He lies about everything.” Dean pulled away.

“Dean, this is different. Why would he lie to you about that? Why would he give your brother up? I mean, he kept you with him, right?”

“I don’t know. Maybe he just didn’t think he could take care of baby while chasing a demon.”

“A demon?”

“Yeah, he’s convinced that some yellow-eyed demon killed her … them.”

Oz knew that Dean’s father was still out there hunting. That he talked to him on the phone when Oz was sleeping or taking a shower. He knew Dean was a little worried about how he was going to explain ‘them’ when he finally ran into his dad again. Oz had no such concerns about his own family. Fuck ‘em. Dean was more important to him that the whole bunch of Campbells.

“He’s obsessed with finding it,” Dean continued. “Look, my dad wasn’t a hunter until my mom was killed. He only hunts in pursuit of this demon.” Dean looked miserable.

“Dean.” Oz took Dean’s face in his hands. “Even if it were true, we’re not brothers. Dude, I barely knew you until six months ago. Blood isn’t what makes people family. Not really.” He leaned in and kissed Dean with lips barely parted. His hand slid around to the back of Dean’s neck and rubbed little circles there. Dean leaned his head against Oz’s shoulder.

“From the moment I met you there was something …” Dean said quietly.

“Yeah, I know.” He wrapped his arms around Dean’s shoulders. “I know.”

“Oz, I never picked a guy up before. When I met you at the pool hall …”

Oz kissed him – long, slow, wet, this time. And Dean moaned into Oz’s mouth.

“I don’t care, Dean. It doesn’t matter. Me and you – that’s all that matters.”

***

The next couple of months were strange and routine. Driving. Hunting. Fucking. Dean started having vivid dreams ms of his brother, his lover. And he would say, “Sam Sammy,” in his sleep. And Oz would wrap his arms around Dean and kiss his cheeks, eyelids, temples. Ssh, Dean, he’d whisper. And Dean would press his face to the curve of Oz’s neck and sigh.

And they gave up the condoms. Neither could bear to have anything, even a thin layer of latex, between them. They wanted all the skin, and spit, and come. Oz needed Dean to leave his come in him. The knowing left him satisfied. And for Dean shooting a load deep into Oz was such a turn on. Knowing as they lay together afterward that it was there, inside his lover … It was a weird, kinky bond, Dean thought.

Finally, they both got checked because Oz was pragmatic, although a part of Dean just didn’t want to know. But they breathed a collective sigh of relief at the results.

And life went on. Driving. Hunting. Fucking. And occasionally, it was different. For few days, they’d stay in one place. No hunting. Not much driving. They’d sleep in, see the sites, make love – because even Dean had to admit to himself that what they did wasn’t just fucking anymore.

He was so screwed. Because that’s when everything changed. 


	3. Chapter 3

**_Three_ **

They were at a rest area in Kansas. It was windy, sunny, and warm, and they were on their way to California to check out reports of a coven of hippie witches.

“Hippie witches.” Oz laughed and threw an arm over Dean’s shoulders, pulling him close as they walked out of the building. Dean laughed. He’d gotten so used to Oz doing things like that in public, he hardly noticed anymore. But when Oz stopped and kissed him, Dean froze for a moment. Oz’s big hand cupped the back of Dean’s head and his tongue pushed into his mouth.

"Dude, come on,” Dean said when he pulled away. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Oz was looking into his eyes.

“Dean,” he said quietly.

And Dean understood. “Yeah.” He smiled a little. That’s when he turned and saw John standing no more than 15 feet ahead of him. Had Oz seen him before? John stood stock still looking between Oz and Dean. It’s true, Dean thought. It’s true, and he knew. Dean felt rage. It prickled hot along the back of his neck. It poured through his veins like acid and clutched at his throat like a fist.

“You son of a bitch,” he yelled and started forward, but Oz caught up with him in a few steps. He moved in front of Dean, facing him, and held him back.

“Dean, don’t. Don’t do this,” he said calmly.

“Why?” Dean screamed. Oz was chest to chest with him now, but Dean was fighting to get around the taller man.

“No, Dean, come on. Not like this,” Oz was saying in his ear.

Dean stopped and backed up then. He angrily swiped a tear off his face. Oz put a hand on his shoulder. “Okay?”

Dean nodded, and Oz turned and advanced on John. “You …” Dean ran after him and grabbed his arm. “Talk,” Oz yelled.

John put up a hand. “I know I owe you boys an explanation, but I think maybe you owe me one as well.”

***

John followed the Impala in his truck and got a room in motor lodge just over the Colorado border in Cheyenne Wells. When they got to the room John took out a bottle of bourbon and poured some in the plastic cups from the bathroom.

Dean was having trouble looking at his father, but Oz, who’d taken a seat on the end of one of the beds, couldn’t look away. His stare was making John uncomfortable. Dean downed his bourbon and poured more.

“So talk,” he finally said. “Just say it.”

John sighed and leaned back against the wall. “I couldn’t handle both of you. Sam was just too little. He needed too much care. So, I asked your mother’s brother, Mark, and sister-in-law to take him in. They had regular jobs, a house, two older kids. They weren’t hunting. They’d settled down. I’d go by and visit, check on Sam, and then one day, they were gone. Other people were living in the house … “

“Uncle John,” Oz said bitterly. “Yeah, I remember … barely, before we started moving …”

“That’s not how it was supposed to be,” John said.

“But he was in the van at the textile mill,” Dean said angrily. “You had to have known that if they were there, he was nearby. You didn’t say a word. You didn’t do anything.”

“Dean …”

“Don’t, Dad, don’t …” Dean started to say.

“Wait a minute,” Oz yelled. “I’m the one who was abandoned here.” His face showed a war of emotions, anger, pain, fear, confusion, as though it was just becoming real. He was Sam, not the son of those lousy, uncaring Campbells. Apparently, he was the son of some lousy, uncaring Winchester. The brother of his lover. And Dean saw it and for the first time in his life, he hated John.

“Get out.”

“Dean,” John said.

“I mean it.”

“This is my room.”

“So give us a minute,” Dean growled.

John walked out, closing the door with firm thud.

“Oz,” Dean said quietly, pulling the kid into his arms. “Baby,” he said, but there in his throat was ‘Sam. Sammy.’

“Dean, Jesus, Dean, he just left me with those people.”

“You never talk about them,” Dean whispered against his ear.

Oz sniffed and pulled back. He picked up his bourbon and took a drink. He leaned back against the dresser. “No one ever told me I wasn’t one of them, but I never felt like one. They were never … I don’t know, I just never got what my brother … what Scott and Amy had, you know, the attention and stuff. They did what they had to for me, fed me, sent me to school, but …” He shrugged. “When I was about 10, not long before the night at the mill, my , my parents left Scot and Amy with our, their mom’s mother and father. They never explained why I wasn’t, but I guess it’s pretty clear now; I wasn’t their grandson. When I asked why they left them, they just said that they were older.” He finished the bourbon and looked away.

Dean stepped between Oz’s spread legs and pressed his face into the curve of his neck.

“This is so fucked up,” Dean said.

Oz’s arms went around him.

“Yeah, we could have been brothers.”

“Yeah,” Dean said, “but maybe we got something better.” He kissed Oz. “Ready to go?” Oz nodded, and Dean headed for the door. He pulled it open, and John was standing just outside. “You can have your room back now.”

John pushed Dean back into the room. “You wait one God damned minute. We aren’t through here.”

“I say we are,” Dean shot back.

“Not by a long shot, Dean,” John said, closed the door, and stood in front of it. “Now how long have you two known?”

“A couple of months,” Oz said.

John looked back and forth between them. “And you’re … but you’re brothers.”

“We aren’t brothers,” Dean spit out. “We didn’t even know each other until about eight months ago,” he said, ignoring the fact that he’d taken Oz’s virginity three, almost four, years ago.

“There’s blood …” John started to say.

“Blood obviously doesn’t mean shit,” Oz said.

John stared at the kid in a way that made Dean’s blood run cold. Like he was something John hunted. Dean stepped between them. “Look, Dad, Oz and me, we have a thing, a relationship, had a relationship before we learned any of this stuff. That doesn’t just go away.”

John rubbed his face with both hands. “That’s another thing, when did you start sleeping with guys?” he said to Dean.

Dean and Oz glanced at each other. “A few years ago,” Dean said. John raised his eyebrows. “What? You don’t tell me about your sex life,” Dean said.

John started to speak and hesitated. “Dean, I need to talk to you alone.”

“No.”

“Dean, please.”

“It’s okay, he needs to talk to his son,” Oz said and left the room.

Dean wanted to follow him. “You don’t even know …” He turned and slammed his fist into the wall. “Make it fast. I’m following him in two minutes.”

“Dean, there are things you don’t know about Sam,” John said.

“Yeah? I know everything I need to know … about Oz.”

“Dean, the night your mother died, the demon was there for Sam. It fed its blood to Sam,” John’s voice was gruff with emotion. “I don’t know what that blood did to him. But one of the reasons I wanted to get him out of this life, Dean, was to protect him.”

“Yeah, well you did a bang up job with that dad. Don’t you think that keeping him close, keeping a little closer eye on him might have been more effective?”

“I didn’t expect them to take off hunting again. They knew that’s what I didn’t want for him.”

“And that night at the mill? You could have gotten him back.”

“I didn’t know he was there. They said he was with his grandmother. You never said anything about seeing a kid in the van.” John looked sharply at Dean.

“You have no idea what it was like for me, the fucking hole in my gut I carried around for my little brother. You lied to me.” Dean wanted to scream, but he calmed himself. “But, you know what, it’s okay. He’s better than a brother.” Dean got in John’s face. “You wouldn’t believe how much better.”

***

Dean and Oz continued on to Grand Junction that night. They were both quiet for most of the ride. They listened to AC/DC and Zeppelin and Ozzy. “I’m living with something that just isn’t fair…” completely out of context, Dean knew, but damn it. The riffs just kept screaming in his brain.

“You hungry?” Dean asked as they pulled into Grand Junction.

Oz just smiled and stroked Dean’s arm.

“Figured,” Dean said. He pulled in at the first café they found. That sat at a booth and as usual bumped knees under the table.

The waitress came over and handed them menus. “Hi, I’m Candy.

“I bet you are,” Dean smiled up at her.

Oz snorted out a laugh.

“What can I get you to drink?” She smiled at Oz, but he didn’t look up.

“A Sam Adams,” Dean said.

“Make it two,” Oz said.

She glanced down at Oz again and walked away.

“You still like jailbait,” Oz said with a grin.

“Yeah well, if you were paying attention, you’d know you are more her type.”

“Does that bother you?”

“Shut up.”

Candy came back with the beers.

“Ready to order?”

“I will have the country fried steak,” Dean said.

“Mashed potatoes?” she asked.

“Obviously, and lots of gravy.”

“And you, honey?” she cocked her hip in Oz’s direction.

“The buffalo burger, medium-rare, no pickles, with fries,” Oz said. “And can I get an order of onion rings now?”

“Sure,” she smiled brightly. “You can get anything you want.” She walked away.

Dean laughed. “Holy shit, dude, anything you want.”

“She doesn’t have anything I want,” Oz said. “You’ve got everything I want.”

The woman at the next table turned in Oz’s direction and then leaned across her table and whispered to the woman with her. The other woman made a point of eyeing them.

“Dude, people can hear you,” Dean said.

“I don’t care.”

“Well, I do.”

“Why?” Oz took a drink of his beer. “I mean, shit Dean,” he lowered his voice, “you hunt and kill evil shit all the time. You’re wanted by several state and local law enforcement agencies, not to mention federal authorities. Why do you care what a few people in some café think about you? Hell, it’s not like they even know we’re brothers.”

Dean felt heat rising up his neck. “You did not just say that last part.”

Oz shrugged. “I’m just trying to put things in perspective.”

Candy set the basket of onion rings on the table with a smile.

“Oh my fucking God, these are so good,” Oz said.

“Dude, your mouth … what is with you?”

“It’s been a long day, Dean.” He drained his beer.

Dean sighed. “Yeah, I can’t argue with that.”

Oz picked up an onion ring and held it in front of Dean’s mouth. “You have to try one. Seriously.”

Dean took it out of his hand. “Stop that. _Seriously,_ don’t feed me in public.”

Oz smirked.

Candy brought the food, and Oz asked for another beer. When the waitress returned, Oz was stealing mashed potatoes and gravy off Dean’s plate. She set Oz’s beer down.

“So are you two …” She started to say, and Oz looked up all wide eyed. “On vacation,” she finished.

“Co-workers,” Dean chimed in. “Insurance. Yeah, we do a lot of traveling together.”

“Oh, okay,” she said. “Well, if you need anything else …”

“Right, Candy,” Dean said.

“Dude, you shouldn’t fuck with her like that,” Oz said after she’d walked away.

“Me? You were the one giving her the puppy dog eyes.”

“The what? No. Don’t be stupid.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Shut up or I’ll lean over this table and kiss you.”

“Try it.”

Instead, Oz reached under the table and slid his hand up Dean’s thigh. Dean jumped and smacked his knee on the underside of the table. Oz threw his head back and laughed.

“Shut up, asshole.”

“If you weren’t so in love me, you’d hit me right now.”

“I still might.” Dean glowered at his plate. “People are looking.”

“It’s because you’re so hot. They envy me.”

“If you don’t shut up, we’re leaving right now, and you won’t get to finish eating,” Dean growled. “And quit pouting.”

***

It was another ugly bathroom in another decrepit motel. Cracked tile and peeling wallpaper. Dean leaned over the sink and brushed his teeth. He was only 25, how could he feel so tired. Oz came in and tossed a towel over the shower curtain rod. He wrapped his arms around Dean’s waist and leaned his chin on Dean’s shoulder.

“Sorry.” He kissed Dean’s neck. “About dinner … I just … I don’t know. Today, you know.”

Dean rinsed his mouth and turned in the circle of Oz’s arms. “I know.” He threaded his fingers into Oz’s hair and kissed him. The press of Oz’s lips, his slick, sweet tongue, made Dean’s cock jump. His whole body, every fiber of his being wanted, needed Oz. His arms slid down and pulled Oz closer. He couldn’t get close enough.

“Come here.” He grabbed Oz’s wrist and pulled him into the main room. Dean laid on his back on the bed and pulled Oz down on top of him. He needed Oz’s weight, all that muscle and bone, on him pressing him into the bed. Dean hooked his ankles around Oz’s calves and wrapped his arms around the kid’s ribs. Their cocks were hard against their bellies. Just a little friction made them gasp into one another’s mouths.

Oz kissed his way down Dean’s neck and sucked at the skin over his pulse. He bit and sucked again. Dean squirmed under him.

“Fuck me,” Dean said. He couldn’t believe he was saying it. Couldn’t believe he wanted it.

“Yeah?”

“God, yeah.”

Oz raised up and pulled Dean’s shorts off, and fuck, Dean was beautiful. Muscles and scars and long lashes and kiss-bruised lips. Oz leaned down and let his tongue trace along a long, thin scar on Dean’s belly; then across his nipples.

“Quit fucking around,” Dean ordered.

Oz got the lube and knelt between Dean’s legs, and this was all beautiful too. He pushed Dean’s legs back a little more and licked a ring around his puckered hole. Dean gasped, and Oz pressed the tip of his tongue against the hole, tasting a little soap from his recent shower. He pushed harder, and the tip slid in a little farther. Dean cussed and moaned. Soon, Oz had his tongue sliding in a little farther each time. Flicking and swirling. It was so silky and tight. Oz put his lips to the hole and sucked. Dean’s hips came up off the bed. His heels dug into the bed. The tongue pushed in again and again.

“Aagh, Oz, ohgodohgod, stop, fuck me,” Dean begged. His cock was aching and there was pool of precome on his belly.

Oz slid a lubed finger into Dean’s anus.

“I don’t want your fingers, God dammit.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Just fuck me.”

Oz hesitated but did as ordered, slicking his cock and pressing the head in. Dean felt a like he was being torn open – the kid was huge – but he wasn’t going to show it. He bit his lip.

“Dean.”

“Please.” He opened his eyes. Oz looked uncertain. “Please, you don’t know how bad I need this.”

Oz continued to push until every inch was in. Dean’s nerves were screaming, and he was covered in a sheen of sweat. He willed himself to relax. Slowly the pain was replaced by a feeling of fullness, of rightness. He reached up and touched Oz’s face.

“Yes.”

Oz started to move in short, gentle strokes. Then, going deeper, pulling out farther. He pushed Dean’s legs up higher, and his cock started rubbing over Dean’s prostate with each thrust. Dean was moaning, and who knew? Dean had thought there was something different, something psychological, about bottoms, something that made them enjoy being fucked. But, no, it was physiological. But he wasn’t thinking this. He wasn’t thinking anything. He was shaking and gripping Oz’s thighs, his nails biting into the skin. Because, holy fuck, waves of pleasure were pushing over him, through him. Oh God, this is what he needed to fill the void.

“Sam, Sammy, fuckohgodohfuck, Sam,” he didn’t even hear himself, but he felt Oz stop moving, pressing his cock as hard into Dean’s ass as he could. His whole body stiff. He cussed and yelled Dean’s name. And Dean was coming too, shooting onto his belly and chest, arching up off the bed with a cry.

Oz collapsed across Dean and they lay panting. Dean nuzzled Oz’s ear. “Sam.” He heard himself then; knew it was wrong, right. His mind probed for the emptiness, but it was gone.

“Oz?”

“It’s okay, Dean. It’s all the same.”

***

They were sitting at a picnic table at a roadside park. A small river rushed past in a nearby gorge. They were sitting side by side on the bench leaning back with their elbows on the table.. An occasional car or semi would rush by behind them.

“You know, I’ve been thinking,” Oz said.

Dean groaned and took a drink of beer.

“No, listen.” He glanced over at Dean who was looking away. “We’ve spent a lot of time ignoring the brother thing. But it’s a fact. We are. We weren’t raised that way, but … there’s something, Dean. We both know it. From the first time we met in the pool hall, there was something there.”

Dean turned toward him and straddled the bench. “Yeah, and there was nothing brotherly about it.”

“I know, I know, but maybe that’s only because we didn’t know,” Oz said. “Maybe it was a matter of interpretation.”

“No, trust me. For my part, there was nothing left to interpretation. It was in clear English … if, you know, body parts spoke English.”

Oz smiled for a moment and took a drink. “You know, for the longest time, you’d talk to Sam in your sleep,” he said quietly and looked up through his bangs at Dean. Dean’s jaw tightened and he looked away. “You always had a brother, didn’t you? Even though, I wasn’t there.”

“No, I didn’t,” Dean said. His voice sounded strained as though his throat was closing around the words. “I didn’t. I had a hole, a huge gaping fucking wound.” Dean couldn’t go on. He couldn’t say that there was an empty seat in the Impala, an empty side of the bed.

“You don’t do it anymore,” Oz said. He turned to face Dean. “You talk to me now. It’s okay, Dean. I am Sam.”

Dean chuckled. “You aren’t. Sam was a little kid. I taught him how to tie his shoes. I walked him to school.”

“Dean, Sam grew up.”

“No, Oz, no. Sam grew up and what? I fucked him. No.”

“Then face the truth, Dean. That Sam never existed. He was imaginary,” Oz said. “Your Sam, the real Sam, is here Dean.” He put his hand over Dean’s on the table. His long fingers tickled the hair on Dean’s wrist.

Dean sighed. “Sam …” His eyes shot up.

Sam smiled. “It’s okay, Dean. That’s what I’m trying to tell you.” He looked out over the gorge. “Those people, the Campbells, they called me Oz. I’m not that kid anymore.” He scooted forward on the bench and kissed Dean. “I’m Sam now.”

**_The end -- please leave feedback.  
_ **

 


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